Fallen SEAL Legacy (4 page)

He was too close for her to raise a knee to his groin. She could feel he was enjoying the struggle, and gaining in confidence. His hand slipped under her panties forcing her to make a decision. She found the opportunity and focused on it. She gripped his middle finger, bending it back with all the strength she could muster. He started to yell, attempting to retract his hand, but Libby held it firm, continuing to squeeze the finger against the top of his hand until she heard a satisfying crack as the joint shattered. He screamed like a wild animal.

“Goddammit, sonofabitch,” he yelled, retreating to the corner to look at his finger pointing up in a peculiar and unnatural angle. “You little cunt. I never wanted to hurt you.” He glared at her. “You’ll be sorry. You’ll pay.” He came at her, and this time he grabbed  her neck.

She missed kneeing his groin, so kicked him in the shin. Then she turned to struggle again with the door lock, but couldn’t make it budge. He was cursing her name, ripping at her blouse, pulling her back into his chest.

She’d been turning the lever the wrong way. She reversed direction and heard the click of freedom as she one-handedly opened the door a crack, only to have it slammed shut when Dr. Gerhardt’s body crashed into it. She found his disjointed finger again, yanked and twisted it with everything she had. He screamed and went down on one knee in pain.

For a brief second he left her alone. It was all the time she needed.

She grabbed her purse, swung the door open, glad to smell the cool, fresh air of the hallway. Her heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline pulsing throughout her body, she passed several students as she power walked down the hall in a hurried daze, tears streaming down her face. Then she began to run, and ran all the way to her car. When she locked herself inside, she rested her head on the steering wheel and sobbed. She felt hot tears hit her chest and top of her bra. Looking down, she noticed for the first time her blouse was completely unbuttoned.

She felt ashamed. Dirty.

Libby went home that afternoon and took a long hot shower, ridding herself from the stink of his scent. She placed a phone call to the Psychology Department chair, asking for office time.

That night she had slept little, tossing and waking up seeing Gerhardt’s face in her nightmares. Twice she checked the locked doors and windows of her apartment. She didn’t answer her phone.

The next day she reported her mentor to the Chairman. The welcoming look on his face soured at her accusations. “You’ve been one of our bright, promising stars, Libby. I’m so sorry to hear this,” he’d said. But she could tell he was more worried about the reputation of the University, and his department in particular.

“I’m going to withdraw from all my classes,” she said. The semester was only two weeks from ending. “I’m earning A’s in most of them. You can verify with my professors. I won’t go any further if I’m allowed to receive whatever grades I’ve earned, rather than the drop-F.”

“Agreed.” He didn’t even flinch. This had happened before, she could see.

“And I want him fired.” She aimed a steely look right at him. He cowered.

“Libby, in a perfect world…”

“Don’t give me that perfect world horseshit. I’ve been living there my whole life. I almost got raped, Dr. Halvorsen.”

“He’s got a problem. I think he’s in therapy. But he’s a gifted professor.”

“No, sir. He’s a sexual predator.”

Dr. Halvorsen winced. “Not exactly. Consenting adults and all that. You are what, twenty-five or -six?”

“Twenty-four. He preys on his students. I’ve heard the rumors before. I just didn’t pay any attention to them. And there was nothing consensual about it.”

“Well, he didn’t hurt you, and that’s what’s important here. I’m so very sorry, honest.” He stood. The meeting was clearly over. Libby noticed the man wasn’t going to offer a hug, under the circumstances. It was a smart choice.

Just before she left the office, she turned and leveled one last glare at a man who had allowed this to happen under his very nose. “If you don’t fire him, I’m going to the police and will file a report. I’ll let you explain to them what you told me.”

For the first time in her life she didn’t have a plan. Was she running away, or running toward an unscripted future?

The real world wasn’t anything like she’d thought. She’d awakened from the dream of a perfect life. She needed safety from the cruelty she now knew lurked in the shadows, ready to consume her.

I need to go home.

Chapter 4

Cooper drove the Babemobile, onto base without uttering a word. Bay was safely kenneled, as he had been during the flight home. His incessant barking was background music to Coop. He’d take the dog to the vet today, and start working on someone to look after him while he was overseas.

Daisy would have been the obvious choice, but not now. He was reluctant to face the attractive tattoo artist, even though she was easy about asking what was on his mind. Something had shifted. The sobering reality of being utterly alone was hard to get used to.  Sorrow hung like a black cape over his shoulders. He wished he could just go to sleep and not wake up.

But then, who would feed Bay?
Had the mutt saved him from himself?

The guard at the shack wasn’t Dorian, or any of the other regulars. The kid looked like he was all of seventeen, and Coop didn’t have the heart to mess with him.

“Thank you for your service, Mister,” the boy said as he handed back Cooper’s military I.D.

What the hell is happening?

Coop decided the boy needed to be messed with after all. “Got me wrong, kid. I just clean the toilets.” He pointed to his tan cargo pants and light blue T-shirt.

“Yeah. You’re the cleanup crew all right.” The boy sported a half smile on his very fuzzy and not yet shaven upper lip. He had a pimple under his splotchy nose, right in the middle of that soft flesh, dug in like a gem. It probably hurt like hell.

But his teeth were good. Perfectly straight. That meant someone who’d raised him loved him enough to send him to the orthodontist. If Coop had needed braces, and he never did, his mom would have gotten a part-time job to pay for it.

Sun was pouring in through the dirty windshield as Coop turned to the young man and did what he never did. He checked out the plastic nametag and read
Leonard.
“You surf, Leo?”

“Um, it’s Leonard, sir. And no, sir, I do not surf.”

“Wanna learn?”

“Abso-fuckin-lootly!”

Bay barked as if understanding the profanity. The kid smiled and tiptoed up to peer in Coop’s window at the dog. Bay appeared to smile behind the wire door of the kennel.

“Can you be here by six tomorrow morning?” Coop asked.

“Sure.”

“All right then, Lenny. We’ll get wet and sandy and ride us some waves. Maybe check out the girls.”

“You mean that, sir?”

Cooper raised his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head, and just looked at the boy.

“Don’t ever ask me that again, son.”

Damn. That was an unkind thing to call the kid.

“Sorry. I’ll be here before six, sir.”

Coop readjusted his glasses and put the machine in drive. He hit the pedal, spewing out smoke and a backfire, signaling he was done talking.

Okay, so maybe I’m gonna pull out of this after all.

He parked, untangled his long legs from the cab of the beast, and unlocked the kennel. Bay limped out, wagging his tail so hard he nearly toppled. Cooper took him outside on a leash so he could relieve himself before Coop checked in with Chief Warrant Officer Timmons.

Once Bay was safely re-kenneled, Coop exited his home on wheels, locking it. There was an edge to his gait. He was rushing to get this meeting with Timmons over with. The sooner he could get back to duty the better. Maybe some time in the next decade he’d unearth the feelings haunting him from the empty coffins he’d watched being buried just two days ago.

He was grateful he didn’t run into anyone he knew on his way to the Warrant’s office. Timmons’s scratched metal desk was piled with papers, indicating things were normal with the Team handler. Only thing that was different was the lack of a big green frog holding a red surfboard in his webbed fingers. Coop had looked into the eyes of that frog dozens of times as he talked to Timmons over the three years he’d been with Kyle’s platoon.

Not today, though.

“I’m not happy to see you, Coop.” Timmons was in a sour mood. He was drinking a glass of milk, which meant his gut was hurting him.

“I didn’t miss you much either, Warrant.”

“You shouldn’t be back here. What the fuck were you thinking? I gotta have men who are whole.”

“I’m good.” Maybe he should have worn his cammies.

“Like hell you are.”

“I said I’m good.”

Timmons stood up with his hairy arms attempting to cross his growing belly. Then he dropped them. “And I say you are full of shit, sailor.”

Cooper knew he shouldn’t argue. But he couldn’t help himself. “When I said I’m good, sir—“

“No fuckin’ way you’re good. You’ve not completed your leave. You can’t tell me you’re going to go out there in the theater after you’ve just buried your family. Hell, Coop, you’ll get yourself and your whole Team killed with that kind of lapse in judgment.”

“I need to go—“

“Oh, I get it. You wanna take out your frustrations on the enemy. Get us all in trouble, right, just so you can process all the bullshit you’re carrying around? That your plan? Those dudes in Afghanistan are bad motherfuckers, but they sure as hell didn’t send the tornado that killed your family, son.”

“I’m
not
your son.” Cooper’s fingers curled into fists. He clenched his jaw and squinted at his liason.

“Thank God for that.” Timmons kicked the metal garbage can under his desk. If the frog had survived Coop’s direct attack five days ago, it would have been the target.

“Sit.” Timmons pointed to a metal folding chair that was ridiculously small for the giant SEAL.

Timmons rummaged through a file drawer and pulled out a manila folder. He sat back down on his chair that made a sound like a cat squealing in heat and opened up the file. He removed a white piece of paper and began to read aloud.

“Special Operator William Brownlee. He was a medic. Died in 1983, Grenada.”

Coop recognized the name as the one that was engraved on the KA-BAR knife he was given the day he received his Trident. A fallen SEAL. That knife was entrusted to Cooper’s care. Every SEAL carried the memory of a fallen comrade in arms.

“You
do
remember that name, s—“ he stopped himself before saying it.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“I understand his brother’s family lives right here in San Diego.”

Cooper stared back into the Timmons’ glassy, bloodshot eyes. He didn’t want to hear the words the man was going to dish out.

“Guy’s a psychiatrist. Works with nut cases.”

Cooper glared back at him.

“Not sayin’ anything, just a point of fact, sailor.” Timmons removed a piece of lint from the front of his shirt, and then looked back at Cooper with those sad eyes of his. “They’ve lost their SEAL. You’ve lost your family. I’d say that’s a match made in Heaven, Coop.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

No. He didn’t look like he was kidding at all.

An extremely tall shadow fell through the ornate glass and metal front doors of the Brownlee house. At first, Libby was frightened.

Get a grip.

The melodic doorbell chime had been imported all the way from an abandoned abbey in the South of France. Whoever he was, Libby Brownlee thought, he’d not be able to get through the doorway without ducking, or smacking himself in the forehead.

“Yes?” She didn’t remove the brass chain connecting the door to the doorframe. It couldn’t really stop anyone, especially someone of his size, she realized too late.

What she saw scared her, but in a way she didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify. He was a handsome, very, very tall and fair-haired young man about her age. His piercing blue eyes didn’t stray from hers as he coolly nodded his head, and took inventory of her character without peeling his steady gaze from hers.

She felt undressed, yet powerless to cover up. But she didn’t look away.

“Ma’am, I’m looking for the Brownlee family.” He said this as he ducked his head and leaned forward. She observed he was trying to make himself smaller. The effort made him look huge.

“This
is
the Brownlee residence.” Her response was worthy of a domestic. No need to let him know she was a relative.

“My name is Special Operator Calvin Cooper. I’m…”

“I know what a Special Operator is.”

He smiled but continued, “—currently serving in the Navy. I’ve been asked to reach out to the family of Special Operator William Brownlee.”

“Uncle Will.” She bit her tongue. Too late to take it back. “My father’s twin brother. I never met him. He’s been dead for many years, since before I was born.” Libby looked at the ground, but was soon distracted by the size of the young man’s canvas slip-ons. The light brown hair on his ankles and lower legs, punctuated by light purple scars, blazed in the afternoon sun.

A surfer.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the reason I’m here.”

“It’s a little late for a color guard. He get awarded a medal posthumously or something?”

The sailor stepped back and put his eyelids at half-mast after a flash of anger. He appeared way calmer than she knew he really was. The control was impressive. No matter how hard she looked, the anger did not surface again. He licked his lips and began to speak, softer this time.

“Look. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me, so let’s just get this over with, so I can tell my Chief I tried to reach out and you guys slammed the door in my face, okay?”

Maybe she was being stupid, but somehow she trusted him. This wasn’t the wrinkle she’d expected. “Fine.” She removed the chain, opened the door and the muscled giant walked into her home with quiet, fluid strides. He smelled like he’d just figured out how to wear aftershave. Something told her he didn’t do it very often.